


Complexity or Simplicity

by TCRegan



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, F/M, One Shot, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 18:33:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1236724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TCRegan/pseuds/TCRegan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenris contemplates sex and relationships.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Complexity or Simplicity

It wasn't like how sex with Hawke was. Sweet and loving, wonderful and better than anything he'd experienced. But also torturous, painful. Memories long forgotten and sealed away rising to the surface. She was so gentle with him after, apologizing, consoling. He hated it. As much as it had hurt him to walk away, it would have hurt more to stay. But he longed for the physical. The touches, the caresses. The raw carnality of it.

There had been others before he'd come to Kirkwall. Danarius. Hadriana. They hardly counted, though. Satisfying his former master and his apprentice had been a job, nothing more. His pleasure meant nothing to them and he received nothing out of it. Even his orgasms, had he peaked, were hollow and unpleasant.

But not her.

Isabela was all fire and life. She didn't whisper sweet nothings into his ear as she rode him hard into the mattress. He gripped her hips, leaving his gauntlets on at her behest. Thin rivulets of blood where the spiky gloves pierced her dripped down her dark skin. He gasped when she moved faster, head thrown back, sweaty and hot. His hips thrust up to meet hers in sweet abandon as she ground down on him, her fingernails raking across his chest.

He reached up, viciously grabbing her by the back of the head and pulled her down for a harsh kiss. She allowed it, but only once.

"Fuck me harder," she ordered, biting his earlobe.

Fenris gasped, and in a swift motion, turned them around. Isabela draped her calves over his shoulders and he took her deep, slowing down with long, torturous pumps that left her whining for more.

"Harder, you knife-eared bastard!"

Anyone else, the insult would have earned their death, but from her it only fueled his passion. He thrust faster, closing his eyes, listening to her breathy panting. He raised a gloved hand and brought it down hard against her ass, laughing as she cried out.

"Shit, Fenris! Do it again," she growled.

He did it again, and her legs slipped from his shoulders. She sat up, nails immediately digging into his shoulders. He loved this part. Isabela on top, face to face. She moved faster, squeezing around him, bringing herself over the edge. Head thrown back, she was a goddess in the moonlight, though he'd never say as much. The compliment would earn him a one-way ticket out of her bed.

She thrust down on him again and he came, holding her almost too gently, hands at the small of her back. Panting, eyes shut, forehead resting on her shoulder. She caught her breath and laughed, then climbed off him.

He did not reach for her, though he wanted to. She was the one good thing in his life now, and he didn't want to spoil it. Feelings would get in the way. Talk of love was absurd. Isabela belonged to no one, just the same as him. She stumbled to the sideboard, picking up the wine bottle they'd abandoned earlier and took a swig. In the dim light of the dusty rented room, he could imagine no sight as beautiful as her. Post-coitus, sweat on her skin, hair askew, makeup smudged. The marks he made in their passion stating boldly that she'd been his, if only for a few hours.

"Are you staying the night?" she asked casually. She took up a leather tie and pulled her hair back, piling it atop her head.

He watched her move, body as lithe as a dancer's as she took a cloth from a basin and began washing herself. She moved slowly, dragging it from one shoulder to the other, over her breasts, moaning quietly as the linen brushed a nipple. Fenris growled, his lyrium tattoos lighting the darkness of the room. To be jealous of a simple scrap of cloth was ridiculous. Vaulting from the bed, he crossed the room in three steps, yanking it away.

Instead of being cowed or frightened, Isabela simply laughed. "Go on then."

Gently, he began washing away the sweat, the little pocks of blood, longing to follow the trail with his mouth. Too intimate, too sweet. There was no room for romance here. He moved the cloth down, over the marks he'd made on her backside, causing her shiver.

"Tell me what you want," he growled, the phrase coming all too easily to his lips.

"I want you," she said, "to do what you want to do."

She leaned back against the sideboard, hands behind her, gripping the wood to steady herself as he sank to his knees. He pressed a kiss to her stomach, licking the small golden ring that pieced her navel before taking it in his teeth and tugging at it. One of her hands touched his hair, feather light at first, then twisting almost painfully as he moved lower. Her legs spread. He breathed her in before licking her folds.

"Fenris, Maker…"

One leg draped over his shoulder now, Isabela shuddered. Fenris settled back on his heels, licking and teasing while he struggled to remove his gauntlets. Pain was a regular part of their coupling, but he had no desire to tear her in half. She cried out as his hand joined his mouth, thumb rubbing circles around her entrance. He pressed hard on her clit and she ground down against his face.

"There! There, Maker damn it, Fenris, fuck!"

He didn't make her wait. Thrusting two fingers inside her, he curled them toward her stomach, eliciting a gasp of pleasure and a string of Rivaini swears that would make another sailor blush. Her thighs tightened and the sideboard crashed against the wall as she tried desperately to hold on. She came quickly under his ministrations and he felt oddly proud. Isabela was a seasoned woman, and for some reason she enjoyed having him back to her bed repeatedly.

He stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, watching and waiting as she came down from her orgasm. Eyes closed, mouth slightly open, the tip of her tongue wetting her lips. She opened her eyes, and he lowered his.

"I should go."

"If you want," she said, her voice still breathy. "Bed's big enough for two."

He glanced over at it, their various pieces of clothing and armor strewn about the room. With a sigh, he picked up his leather trousers and slid them on, skin still sensitive. "No."

"Suit yourself."

He dressed quickly, picking up his sword he'd left near the door. When he turned, Isabela was leaning against the windowsill, still naked, looking out at the sea, wine bottle in hand.

"I…"

She glanced over at him.

"I'll see you later," he said quickly.

She nodded, raising the bottle.

He left.

Perhaps it was time to move on before things became too complicated.


End file.
